


Pining in Winter

by queenribbon



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenribbon/pseuds/queenribbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al-Cid and Ashe do not necessarily get along, but Al-Cid's silent assistant finds Ashe far more agreeable than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Meeting with a Stranger

"I do not suppose this is something you might not reconsider?"

Master Margrace's political dealings had brought me to this incredible place, Mt. Bur-Omisace, and to the Gran Kilitas. I was fairly baffled by recent events, though to some extent I was involved -- I do not have the mind for politics Master Margrace does. I remained silent as he spoke with the young Archadian lord, Larsa, and...

Who was that?

He handed me his glasses as he spoke to her, and dutifully I affixed them to my shirt, but I thought only of the lovely stranger before my master and I. Even in all of his travels and negotiations, this woman remained unknown to me. How could it be so?

"Al- Cid Margrace, at your service. To think I stand before the Lady Ashe. It is truly an honor." Master Margrace dropped to one knee and kissed her hand. I felt a strange hot flash climb up my back, and a moment of irrational anger. The stranger, apparently Lady Ashe, was fairly shocked at his display. I remained silent, as was my duty.

"I see it is true after all. Ah, stunning is Dalmasca's desert bloom," crooned Master Margrace.

Those words stung me. I wanted to shout, to stop him from speaking to her that way -- it was not his place, not anyone's place. I did not want him to touch her, and I knew not why.

The Gran Kilitas interrupted this grim scene to speak on matters of politics, which I attempted to listen to. Ultimately, as per usual, I became far too confused and instead took a moment to survey the Lady. She spoke, I know, of resisting a coming war, but why she was involved I could not hope to guess.

Ah! A moment of insight. The Lady Ashe was, in fact, that sorrowful Dalmascan princess reported to have died by her own hand. I now understood, and silently applauded her clever gambit. She may not have noticed, for I fear my silent applause was likely a meaningful flutter of the eyelashes. I do try to be expressive, but it is not becoming of me.

"...I fear it would only worsen our current situation," finished Master Margrace, his concern apparent in his voice.

"Because I am powerless to help," said the Lady Ashe, and in her voice was anger and despair. Her words made my heart sink -- this suffering of hers was mine to bear, too, it seemed, for in some way I had bonded with the fair Lady.

They spoke again of politics, and I paid little attention, for as important as these matters were I was all but useless. In politics, there is little room for a woman such as me, who rarely even speaks. My thoughts turned instead to Master Margrace's conversation with the Lady, and try as I might they would not stray from that path. I thought of his expression upon seeing her, upon speaking to her...it pained me. I did not want this affection he had toward the Lady to exist.


	2. A Whisper in the Dark

That night we returned to our quarters in a nearby inn. When I had begun working for Master Margrace, I was surprised at his willingness to mingle with poor folk, for it was not something I thought common of royalty. But Master Margrace is a kinder man than I had supposed, though enigmatic in a way. I believe we are much the same in that respect.  
He was quite exhausted, and instead of speaking to me of his thoughts on the day (as he was wont to do at night, for I speak little), he slept nearly immediately. Upon the room's other bed, I attempted to do the same, but could not.

The Lady plagued me. Her light hair, her serious eyes, the unsmiling, delicate lips...I could not bear to think of her, for it rent my heart in two. I had a serious problem, I knew, in that this was no ordinary admiration. No, unfortunately, I was feeling something far more serious.

But who could not? She was a brave and strong woman, and intelligent enough to understand the world of politics as I could not. She had the nerve to speak and speak freely, and I did not. She had the beauty of freshly-fallen snow, of ice glimmering in the sun, of a frozen sky. Hers was not a beauty of summer, and indeed I marveled that in Dalmasca she did not melt. Perhaps it was her steely disposition which made her seem such a queen of ice.

I wondered idly, knowing the answer, if she had noticed me at all. I imagined her strong voice uttering my name, joyful at seeing me and me alone. "Arlie!" And I felt my heart swell. I wished sincerely I had not had that thought. I wished sincerely I could speak as she did, with all her strength and nerve...but I could hardly bring myself to speak in front of Master Margrace. I so desperately wanted to be like the Lady...more accurately, I so desperately wanted the Lady. I supposed if I never practiced saying her name I could never speak to her, and, well, Master Margrace was asleep...

"Ashe," I whispered, and from the other bed I heard laughter! Master Margrace was awake! I rolled over and pretended to be asleep, but it was no use.

"So, it seems you too desire Dalmasca's sweet bloom," laughed Master Margrace. I had been his assistant for many years, and it seemed often he knew me better than I did myself. It was rare, though, he mustered enough interest to tease me. "Go to sleep, Arlie. Perhaps in your dreams she may, too, whisper your name to the stars!"


	3. With Master Margrace

The Lady had ventured to some dangerous place, the Stilshrine of Miriam, and left me without her. I was not bitter, for she knew me not, but it made me desire her company no less.

Master Margrace was conversing with travelers at the base of the mountain, flirting with an adventurer-woman in a red cloak and large boots. She would have looked disinterested to many, but I knew better, for at the corner of her mouth there was a slight crease, and her pupils appeared a tad on the large side -- indeed, Master Margrace had won her over. He seemed not to fully understand this, though his actions indicated he was sure enough. I expected to see the adventurer-woman again in the near future.

When he was done speaking to the adventurer-woman, he turned to me. On a whim, he suggested visiting a cafe. I wanted to remind him that there were no cafes in the area, but I fell silent, instead merely shaking my head. Luckily, he understood this. Once again, I felt a sense of humiliation rise in the pit of my stomach. I was nothing like the Lady, and hardly deserving of what I desired from her. I shamed myself for my greed as we walked back to the little inn.

When we returned, he sat down for a meal (or perhaps a light snack). He ordered a hot tea and a fair amount of cakes, which was uncharacteristic of him. I, as per usual, requested nothing, but was graciously gifted a glass of water, which I managed a feeble "thank you" for. Master Margrace smiled, but not mockingly -- still, I felt a twinge of shame at my inability to speak as others did without fear. I believed he could tell this, for to me he spoke.

"Listen, Arlie. You are to me not only an assistant but a friend and confidant. Often people do not appreciate the beauty of silence, my friend. There is no shame in such a beauty."

I merely looked down at the table. I was flattered, to be sure, and I conveyed this with what I was hoping was a visible smile. However, I felt as if my fear of speech was not something beautiful -- rather, something that marred me. Were I not terrified of talking, I should be grateful for his words, but...

Another meaningful change in expression from Master Margrace indicated that he seemed to understand now why I was so silent. He touched my shoulder reassuringly. "Words will find you in due time, silent songbird."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hate to break the immersion, but quick note concerning the silent songbird quote for all interested -- it's a pun on the meaning of Arlie's name, which is bird.)


	4. A Breaking Point

We awoke that morning to a din so loud it was nearly tangible. Master Margrace's expression was one I had never seen before, and it made me fear for him as much as I did for myself. We hurried on clothing and rushed out of the inn, confused and frightened. My heart was pounding in my ears. We craned our necks toward the sky, and above us soared an Archadian warship -- headed toward the summit of Mt. Bur-Omisace!

Master Margrace looked at me, his brow knitted in concern and frustration. "This is most unfortunate. Come, Arlie, we must --"  
He never finished that sentence, for upon us dropped an Archadian bomb. In terror we ran from the ensuing explosion, and managed escape, likely because we were far enough from the blast to begin with. Master Margrace turned to me, his eyes wide with disbelief. I felt much the same. The attack was surreal.

We looked back at the warship, which once again opened fire. This time, however, the warship was closer, and so too was its deadly cargo. Master Margrace and I had little time to react, and both were flung to the ground. I was unhurt, to my knowledge, but Master Margrace's leg was injured. I scooped him from the ground and, as best I could, ran toward the Paramina Rift, from whence the warship seemed to have come. He did his best to keep up with me, but, admittedly, he needed not do much. Others who had been staying either at the inn or in the numerous refugee camps scattered at the base of the mountain were attempting to make their own escapes, and each individual seemed to have their own idea about which way to go. As best I could, I shoved through the crowd with Master Margrace, who assisted with a few shouts.

We managed, after two or three heart-pounding minutes of finding our way through the crowd and listening to the Archadians periodically opening fire (sometimes a bit close for comfort), to reach the rift. I lay him down and collapsed in the soft snow, exhausted but mostly terrified. He was equally upset, and this time it was I who spoke.

"Master Margrace, are you all right?"

He nodded, still as shocked as I. We remained prostrate in the snow for how long I do not know. The warship lazily hung over the temple, wreaking havoc I had assumed unthinkable. I did not know how to explain how I felt, but were I one to cry I surely would have done so. However, though I wished to, all I could do was tremble and grasp the hand of my friend and employer.


	5. The Gran Kilitas' End

When there was no sign of Archadian aggression, we returned to the mountain's base. I supported Master Margrace on one side, for his leg was still weakened. He grasped my back tightly. As we walked, I noted that his glasses were still on my shirt.

I felt still as if I was in a dream, and I am sure Master Margrace did as well. All around us, the once-contented people and once-cared-for refugees wept and sported injuries much like Master Margrace's. The sun still shone bright in the sky, birds still sang, yet around us was the misery of war. My companion's face was serious, far moreso than I had ever seen it before. I believe we both ached for these people. I believe, in a way, we both considered ourselves a temporary part of the community on Mt. Bur-Omisace. And we, as temporary citizens, would bear yet a permanent scar.

Master Margrace very nearly collapsed, but I caught him. He needed a moment's rest, not only for his injury, but for his tears. A man such as he could not stand for this cruelty. Neither could I, and I wept in silence. When we had escaped the throes of mourning, we made our way to the temple, where Lady Ashe and her party had returned.

And by Faram! The Gran Kilitas! I felt as though my eyes decieved me. The Gran Kilitas, before us deceased, and by Archadian sword...indeed, madness had descended upon all of Ivalice. Master Margrace spoke to Lady Ashe and retrieved from my shirt his glasses. There was nothing I could do but stand in shock. The Gran Kilitas, dead!

The Lady seemed pained by this turn of events. I wished desperately to comfort her and be there for her, as I was for Master Margrace. I knew he required my assistance far more than she, but even so, it was injurous to see my beloved in such a state.

We left the temple after a spell, and Master Margrace requested a spot of rest, which I of course would never deny him. We sat, leaning together in the chill, baffled and silent. This went on for I would estimate a good five minutes, and at that time Master Margrace broke the silence.

"Damn that Vayne! Damn him and his ambitions, all!"

I had never seen Master Margrace this upset. There was naught else he could think to say, and I observed him as he clenched his fists in anger. More than the Lady who I had pitied, it was Master Margrace who required me, and it was Master Margrace whose friendship was to me sustenance. I placed my hand upon his head and with my thumb stroked his hair. It was a small gesture, but Master Margrace took it for all it was worth.


	6. A Fumbling Author

It had been a few weeks since the incident at Mt. Bur-Omisace. Master Margrace and I had safely returned to Rozzaria, and we were currently enjoying some peace and quiet in the Margrace library.

  
More accurately, Master Margrace was enjoying peace and quiet -- I was attempting to fight my fear and write to the Lady a letter, but having little luck in my endeavor. Though it had been some time, I still firmly held on to my feelings for her, and looked forward to our next meeting (for I knew there would be one). Perhaps it was a little foolish. I'm young, and such foolishness, it seems, comes naturally.

  
So far, my letter was headed with "Dear Lady Ashelia." I considered that an important step forward, for sure. The question was merely of how to finish it up.  
I glanced up at Master Margrace, who was reading some romance novel. He looked over the top of the book at me and raised his eyebrows. Apparently he knew what I was doing.  
"Tell her she is like a beautiful rose," he said, and went back to reading.

 

  
But she was not like a rose.  
I likened her more to a lily, or somesuch other white flower, which reminds one of snow -- for she, too, was soft as the powder of fresh snowfall, and just as apt to bite.

Perhaps such thoughts belonged in a love letter? I knew not. What I ended up writing was far less romantic than what I had envisioned.

To H.R.H. Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca:

     From the moment I saw you (which you surely do not remember) I found myself more impressed with your straightforward and frank speech than I have ever felt. That is not to say that I find you pushy, merely that I find you assertive in a positive manner. Hopefully the denial of your theoretical pushiness did not suggest to you what otherwise would have never occured. In any case I find you unreasonably charming -- that is not to say that I find you unreasonable! Your charm is quite startling to me is all that I mean to imply. Of course beauty is not everything in a woman and I treasure your mind just as much as your looks, though I have hardly come to know you. We have only met twice, I have not followed you to get some idea of your mind, of course! I respect your privacy. I know of your personality through your speech, of course.

     ...More directly and less babblingly put, Your Royal Highness, I feel obligated to assert my feelings of a romantic nature toward yourself.

                                                                                                                                    With Sincerity, Arlie Grasca

The damned letter was a mess.


	7. Anxiety

Upon showing the mess of a letter to Master Margrace, he had laughed -- good-naturedly, of course, but to me it was not a great sign. He saw the concern on my face.

  
"It's rather sweet."

He patted me on the shoulder and produced a creamy envelope from his desk-drawer. Moving official documents aside, he folded the letter, placed it in the envelope, and sealed it with wax and the seal of the royal family. I shook my head.

"You don't want to send this one?" he asked me, and again I shook my head.

Quickly I composed an entirely different letter.

  
To H.R.H. Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca:

  
     From the moment I saw you (which you surely do not remember) I found you entirely unlike a rose. Indeed, you were and are as beautiful, indeed, your thorns as sharp, but you are not so showy a flower. In fact, those white bells which bloom in the valley, of a fragrant and pleasant nature, I find akin to you. Small, unassuming, delicate and beautiful, they are, and poisonous. Your strength of character is unmatched and your beauty pure, uncomplicated.

  
     I wish for you to know that I am interested in you romantically, Princess.  
                                                                                                                                             With Ardor, Arlie Grasca

When I showed Master Margrace, he laughed even harder. Once again, he produced a smooth, lovely envelope, and sealed the both of them within. "She can choose between Arlie the poet and Arlie the tongue-tied," he joked.

The letters stayed in the safest drawer in my room when I slept, and when I woke, they journeyed with me in my breast pocket. Somehow, protecting them felt as though I were protecting her.


	8. Finale

For reasons I could not quite understand, we met again at Balfonheim.

  
Something about nethicite -- the destruction of the Sun-Cryst. Something else about power. As I have stated before, politics are certainly not my strong suit. I know that the Lady Ashe complained of a madman, some wild scientist bent upon harnessing the stone. He made advances toward her, she stated. I felt irrational anger about that. What good could I achieve railing at a dead doctor?

More importantly, Archades and Rozzaria saw fit to war -- bafflingly enough to me, of course. My anxiety only doubled when I learned that the Lady was to attack Bahamut personally. It was then or never, and to make matters worse her life was on the line.

She saw fit to leave Balfonheim immediately. I felt my stomach tying itself in knots, untying itself, churning like its own living being within me. It was all I could do to prevent myself from getting sick, begging my body not to betray me.

The preparations were being made, the Lady personally sharpening her own sword. Without Master Margrace at my side, I would not be overshadowed -- nor would I be supported. I would have to deliver the letters personally.

I would have to speak.

I recalled Master Margrace's assistance with the precious material. I'd not my own seal, and so he had graciously lent his own, even as he fretted over matters of far greater importance. A greater Master, nay, a greater friend there was not. Unfortunately, his efforts may have been somewhat sullied by the fact that my carefully-prepared letters had been gripped so tightly at the corner they had crinkled.

With a deep breath, I approached the Lady, who looked up at me and only at me, her eyes looking into mine, her eyes like steel, like the skies of Bur-Omisace, blue, calculating, cold -- my heart forgot to beat, and as if to make up for it, came back beating twice as hard. I thrust the envelope forward without thinking, feeling my face redden. She took it carefully and tucked it away for safekeeping in her bosom. I couldn't stay to explain, and though I meant to merely walk away as though on official business, I ran.

The time she spent on the Bahamut was painful, each hour vexing me more and more, until I finally heard of her triumphant return. Though relieved, I could not shake anxiety at the letters.

I received not a reply but a visit from the Lady herself.

Upon hearing a knock at the library door, I was perplexed, as was Master Margrace. He had been absorbed in his studies, and I in my own; his thoughts had strayed to history and mine to the minutiae of body language. As was expected of me, I opened the door, and upon seeing the good Lady expected to be ushered out. But it was Master Margrace who was asked to leave the library.

The door shut behind him and I felt my whole body tense -- again, her focus was on me, me alone, more than i ever could have hoped for. She smiled and took my hand in hers, and it was soft. And she kissed my hand.

"Arlie," she began, voice as official and solemn as I had ever heard it, though her eyes played at some hidden joy. "I am no princess in your presence." At that she knelt on her knee and I felt my head swim. "It is you who has stolen my affection with your tenderness. I wish to take you as my bride."

Her dreamy expression became quite grounded when I began to cry, hot tears streaming down my face, falling on her smooth hand. It was then I found the bravery to speak.

"Yes!"

And some years after our wedding, a private affair, I asked her if she had fallen in love with the poet or the fool. She laughed. There was only ever me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished! Yaaaaay!
> 
> I wanted to talk a little about Arlie. Originally, I wrote her to have a rather general anxiety disorder, but in retrospect she might fit more of the symptoms of selective mutism. I don't think a "diagnosis" of her matters, she's fictional. Believe what you will.
> 
> I just wanted to clear up the ending, since it was a little vague: her mental health issues aren't "fixed" when she marries Ashe. I hate when authors do that. She's still the same Arlie! I knew it might've seemed as if she magically "got better" when she accepted Ashe's proposal, so I wanted to clarify. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing that she was able to verbally accept.
> 
> What I wanted to convey about her inability to speak at all and to write confidently is that she's fine just the way she is. There's nothing wrong with Arlie, she's fine, she doesn't need to change the way she is for other people. If SHE wants to - and early in the fic she did voice that - it should be for her. So changing that about her for a "happy ending" wouldn't be very nice.
> 
> I just thought leaving it without a note might make it open to misinterpretation, so I wanted to say that really quick. The end of the fic isn't about Arlie changing or getting "better," but being the same person all along, and that it's the same person who Ashe liked, not Arlie "when she gets better."


End file.
